


And Yet He Continues To Appropriate The Term "Wine"

by kiyyeisanerd



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bloating, Drinks With Vague Magical Properties, Inflation, M/M, Stuffing, chugging, liquid inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:26:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyyeisanerd/pseuds/kiyyeisanerd
Summary: The prince's tall, dark, handsome visitor brings him three full bottles of magical liquor. What happens next you'll never believe.(A short liquid inflation/bloat fic with a generic medieval-fantasy aesthetic)
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	And Yet He Continues To Appropriate The Term "Wine"

**Author's Note:**

> In a similar vein to my fic [Full Indulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045534), this is purely a kink fic with some brief sex at the end. Dirk drinks many bottles of magical not-wine and gets off on it. If it's not your kink, don't read! Full warning list can be found in the endnotes :D
> 
> (Also, I only made a single cursory editing pass over this and I wrote it at 1 AM, so apologies for mistakes!)

You’ve dutifully cleared out your throne room for the evening. It’s never very hard to deliver the order; your guards are happy for the time off, and they are certainly aware of the special relationship you have with your _visitor_. 

You’re wearing your best silks. A fine vest; a lovely purple shirt; loose pants, but with a slim buttoned waist. Just as he prefers, you’ve come to know.

You position yourself imposingly atop your throne. No crown tonight, but you carry your regalty well enough through posture. He doesn’t keep you waiting very long. Soon enough, the great doors part around his tall, familiar figure.

“Your majesty,” he calls across the room, making a slight bow. “Again I have traveled to this land in hopes of presenting you with my goods.”

There is no need for such formalities between you and him, but it’s a quaint little roleplay you keep up each time he visits, and it endears you. “Proceed, then, traveler, and show evidence of these wares.”

An intimate smile plays upon his lips as he approaches. He has a new cloak, heavy brown fur, cascading over his shoulders down to his ankles. Beneath it he hoists a large satchel that clinks slightly with every movement. Already, some small fire has been stoked in your gut, hot anticipation glueing you to your chair.

As is his custom, he lays out the bottles before you. Three this time; one of a dark maroon color, one of a pinkish white, and one of a deep blue with flecks of gold. The colors are always new; you don’t think he’s ever brought you the same brew twice, no matter how much you sing your praises for any particular variety.

“Fascinating,” you say, gazing at the bottles. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“Yes the blue beauty was a chore to whip up, but I’m certain you’ll enjoy it immensely,” he grins. The roleplay has been dropped—his sloppy accent comes through, and he beams at you with an all-too-knowing glint in his eye.

You can’t help but grin back, albeit in your subdued way. You’ve been looking forward to this for months.

“Which one do you fancy starting with?” he asks, perching his massive frame on the arm of your chair. Luckily it is a bigass chair. 

“Decisions, decisions....” you murmur. “Let’s see. The blue one seems the most exciting, so my impulse would be to save it for last. However, if I don’t finish it all, that ends up complicating things.”

“Oh,” Jake glances down at you, “I’ll make sure you finish it all.”

A shiver of arousal courses through you. “We’ll do the blue one third, then. Start with the… white?”

“Sounds perfectly peachy,” he smiles, bending down to pick up the whitish-pink bottle. He uncorks it with a resounding _pop_ and places it between your knees, folding his hands back in his lap and readying himself to watch.

You pick up the open bottle and take a long, sweet sip. It’s incredibly sweet, actually—you detect the taste of rich berries underneath a strong floral overtone. Fantastic, as his wines always are. You grip the base of the bottle, tilt it upwards, and begin to chug.

On multiple occasions, Jake has referred to his drinks as “wines” or “brews,” but they never seem to have the effect of intoxicating you. You’re not sure if this is a result of your own character, or an intentional facet of the drinks. When you’ve asked, he’s plainly stated that he uses no alcohol—and yet he continues to appropriate the term _wine_.

In any case, the concoctions he brings you taste far better than any wine you’ve ever encountered. Each visit he surprises you with some new trick; a drink that tastes like pumpkin pie, a drink that turns warm as it hits your throat, a drink that makes little fizzing noises even after its been drunk. Once, he even brought you a bottle that endlessly refilled itself. That was a lovely evening, but you do prefer the variety of taste you get with multiple different bottles.

You recall fondly your first meeting with Jake. He entered your throne room, an enormous, calloused man, and gifted you a sparkling brew for your royal stores. He asked in exchange for brief housing in your castle during a particularly nasty storm. Of course, you offer shelter to all manner of people during storms, so his request was no problem. The wine, though, you were wary of. Princes are taught to fear poison. You’d passed the bottle off to some guards, asking them to test-taste it—they didn’t die, and after two days of hearing them gush about the drink’s exquisite flavor, you had to try some for yourself.

As you are wont to do, you drank the entire bottle in one sitting. You’ve always had sort of a strange obsession with… _liquid_. Ever since you were young, feeling water slosh around in your too-full stomach has given you inexplicable feelings. First discomfort, then curiosity, and more recently, arousal. 

Jake’s wine had gone down smooth and settled heavily inside you—it was _amazing_ stuff, and it made you feel good in more ways than one. That first bottle had tasted of woody tea and rose-chocolate, you remember. Obviously, you quickly had your guards track Jake down and enthusiastically invite him to bring more drinks.

You became well acquainted after that. You learned that he lived the lonely life of a hunter out in your kingdom’s woods, but he spent his free time brewing the most delectable beverages—all recipes he’d learned from his late grandmother, an accomplished herbalist. He’d suffered a rough season and not properly equipped his camp for the winter; instead of facing certain death in the forest, he’d made his way to the city and hoped to bargain for shelter with his finest wine.

The shelter was free anytime, you reassured him. The wine, though, was _very much_ welcomed.

He’d been ecstatic to share his hobby with such an enthusiastic patron, and had brought you another bottle the very next month. This went on harmlessly for a short while before he once encountered you in the hallway on your way back to your room, pants unbuttoned and looking very off-balance. From there it was an awkward explanation, but he seemed extraordinarily flattered, not to mention a little bit _into it_.

You had amazing sex that night. Ever since, he brings you a number of liquors at the turn of each season, and watches greedily as you indulge yourself.

Now, at the precipice of spring, you find yourself once again chugging down his heavenly spirits. You pause momentarily in your task, lowering the pink bottle to your lap and letting out a small burp.

“How do you like it?” Jake asks, watching you with anticipation.

“It’s spectacular as always,” you tell him, breathing a long sigh that jostles the contents of your stomach. Obviously, you’d been careful to only eat lightly during the day, so you’re empty aside from the quarter-bottle of wine now settling inside of you.

“Making lovely progress,” he comments, eyeing the bottle. “I have no idea how you do it so fast.”

“Practice,” you grunt before bringing the bottle to your lips again. You close your eyes as you drink, relishing the heavy feeling when each gulp drops into your stomach—pressure slowly building, but not uncomfortably so. Your pants aren’t getting tight yet, but your vest is starting to feel snug. You plan to keep your garments buttoned as long as possible just to relish in the feeling of straining against them.

After a moment you take another break, this time letting out a longer burp. This drink isn’t carbonated at all, but you still can’t help swallowing air as you rush to imbibe it as quickly as possible. You bring a hand to your belly, cradling it and starting to rub slow circles, sliding your hand underneath your vest.

Once you’re three-quarters done with the bottle, Jake swoops in to kiss you, pausing your intake. He sneaks a hand down between your legs, bypassing your stomach entirely—you gasp quietly as he palms your _very_ hard dick through your pants.

“Getting ready to unbutton yet?” he asks, playing with your waistband.

“Hm, not yet,” you say, covering your mouth to swallow down a small burp. “It isn’t tight enough”

You’re not sure what ingredients he uses, but _something_ in Jake’s drinks allows you to consume far more than would usually be possible. For example, on your own time (with a normal bottle of cider perhaps), you can do about half a bottle before you have to pause, waiting for more room to free up. Afterwards you can get another fourth down before you reach your limit.

Jake, however, expects you to finish _three_ bottles in a single sitting. You believe you’re fully capable. After almost one full bottle, you’re still feeling perfectly fine. Heavy with liquid, sure, but somehow his drinks make your stomach more allowing.

You top of the bottle pretty quickly, Jake subtly thumbing at your inner thigh as you finish. You make a satisfied “Ah” sound, followed by a wet belch. Finally Jake puts his hands on your stomach. The light touch of his hardened hands feels amazing against your cool skin.

The impact of the liquid on your frame isn’t too noticeable, so far. Even with a whole bottle inside, your stomach only juts out slightly above your slim hips, pushing your vest out ever so imperceptibly. Usually, your skinny frame is another impeding force when you’re trying to fill yourself up; Jake’s drinks, however, pay no heed to your physical limitations.

After a ten minute relaxation period, in which Jake rubs dutifully at your slowly bulging belly and your dick somehow hardens even further, you motion for Jake to retrieve the second bottle.

This one, the maroon liquor, smells of cherries. The taste, however, is far earthier than the previous fruity concoction. It rolls over your tongue like smoky black tea. It’s definitely carbonated—you wouldn’t expect a smoky taste to mix well with bubbles, but it’s delicious. 

With the bubbles now, you have to pause much more frequently to work up burps as you drink. You try not to let _everything_ out—as embarrassing as all of this is, Jake knows you find it immensely pleasurable when you’re full with extra air and bubbly gas. Still, you keep running out of room with how tight the drink makes your stomach feel. 

It is at this point that you unbutton your pants, the waist having gotten far too tight for your bloated middle. You need to unbutton your fitted vest as well. Your stomach surges forward, and you let out a burp in relief. It stretches your shirt dangerously, skin visible between the straining buttons. Jake grins, his face flushing, and dances his fingers around your navel. Thankfully, he also starts unbuttoning your shirt.

You start to feel those delicious rumbles as you plow through the second bottle; those noises of protest from the lower parts of your stomach that squirm and swell with discomfort. To ease them, you keep your hand steadily circling under your belly. Jake, for his part, tends to keep his hands either on your shoulders or thighs; he tends to withhold belly touches until you’re finished with everything he’s set out, which is excellent motivation.

Soon enough, you’ve topped off the second bottle. Your stomach is a little bit noisy now, occasionally churing around as you lean back in your chair, one hand patting the noticeable swell.

“Oof,” you groan, working up a small burp from a forceful pat.

“Feeling alright there?” Jake asks. He knows you would let him know if you actually felt _bad_ , but he likes teasing you.

“Fit to bursting. But quite alright. Is it time to… make our way to my chambers, before I become even more immobile?”

“Er, I was thinking…” Jake starts, his eyes darting to the side. “I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this suggestion. But I was thinking about it and—I think it’d be rather hot if I fucked you here in your fancy chair.”

Honest, you almost come right there without him even touching you. “That’s—” you stutter out, hiccuping slightly, “yeah, oh yeah, that’s a great idea.”

Jake beams, excited that his idea is well-received. “You’re not worried anybody will come in?”

“I gave strict instructions to leave us alone in here. If any guards try to come in, it’ll be their own fault if they have to witness this.”

Jake chortles and pats you lightly on the underside of your belly. “Gods, I love you. Third bottle it is, then.”

He picks up the deep blue concoction and hands it to you. Up close, the little gold flecks look like stars exploding in a dark expanse of sky.

“This one is something new—” he sheepishly rubs his neck, “I um, tried out a test version back home to make sure it worked alright. Trust me, it will feel _good_.”

The thought of Jake drinking a bottle of this stuff and cradling an enormous, tight belly back home makes you go fucking crazy. You eagerly uncork the bottle and bring it to your lips, taking a small sip to better savor your first impression.

The taste is… indescribable. It’s like if some ancient blueberry mead was infused with liquid gold, and it prickles at your tongue and throat when you swallow, not just with carbonation but with heat.

It feels warm as it drops into your belly, now the size of a basketball and taught to the touch. You start to gulp down the rest of the bottle, closing your eyes in bliss. The more of it that settles in you, the more you feel some persistent warmth; like it’s warming your stomach from the inside out, and your hands too, so they don’t feel so cold against your sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Jake,” you moan, “this is incredible. What is this?”

“Trade secret,” he giggles. “You look so fuckable right now, you have no idea how much I want my dick in you.”

“Better finish this quickly then,” you snort, gulping down more of the drink.

It takes you longer than expected to finish it, though. The carbonation has really bloated you up by now, and you pause often to squeeze out little burps. The dark blue drink seems to make you bloat more than usual; once you feel some of it start to move into the lower portions of your gut, you’re left with constant gurgling noises and a persistent feeling of trapped air. You can feel it bubbling up, sort of, if you hold a hand to your belly.

After a few painful, incredibly arousing minutes, you finish the bottle. Jake takes it from you and sets it alongside the others, and then turns to rub your enormous midsection. You’ve slumped back into your chair, so your stomach sticks out prominently below your toned chest, pressing down on your dick which, in turn, strains up into the taught skin.

Finally, as you sit half-stunned in your bloated, wine-filled stupor, Jake takes his dick out and starts to coat it with clear oil. You manage to shimmy your pants off and drop them to the ground. To position correctly, Jake has to grab your ass and pull you out a little, causing your stomach to slosh with a heavy _glorp_ noise. You don’t know if you’ve ever gotten this big; you feel so tight, like you couldn’t possibly fit anything else inside of you.

Except Jake’s dick, of course. You desperately want Jake’s dick inside of you. You moan as you feel him against your hole, and as soon as he starts to push in, you dissolve into curses, strained noises, and unprompted burps.

He rocks into you slowly at first, but even that movement jostles your stomach wildly. It sloshes forward and back, the movement of the liquid audible.

“Oh,” Jake moans, “you sound so terribly full of my wine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, “I feel huge, Jake, I’m so full of you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the feeling of his sizable dick, how it stretches you to your breaking point. Everything feels tight and strained, but in the most delectable, unraveling sort of way. You love how your stomach bounces and sloshes like a full waterskin as he fucks you ruthlessly, his broad hands controlling the pistoning of your hips.

You cry out when he finds the _good_ angle, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound as you finish. He thrusts into you hard for a few more moments, then gasps in his raw, breathy voice as he spills into you.

Not that you can really feel it, but the _thought_ of his come dripping into you when you’re already almost bursting nearly sends you over the edge again. You lay there, stomach straining against your spine, as he gently cups your ass and pulls out of you, careful not to jerk you around too much.

“Ohhh,” you moan quietly. He lets you rest for a moment, collapsing over you and kissing into your neck, before standing and pulling his pants back up.

“Do we have to move,” you complain, feeling too heavy and well-fucked to stand.

“Yes, dear, let me just get your trousers on.”

You do not help as Jake tugs your pants back over your legs, not bothering to try buttoning them. He leaves your shirt and vest open, too, leaving your stomach exposed. Then he hooks his arms under you, lifting you up bridal-style against his chest.

“Gosh, you’re heavy,” he grunts, hoisting you up higher.

“That’s your fault,” you say, hands cradling your stomach. You’re a petite man against his enormous stature, usually light enough for him to carry with one arm. That all changes when you’re full of drink.

He smiles fondly and carries you carefully out the back door to your chambers, careful not to upset your stomach as he walks. You lean your head into the soft fur of his cloak and hum, feeling worn out, sated, and desperately full in your favorite way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: chugging & liquid bloating, non-alcoholic but dubiously magical drinks, burping, penetrative sex.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! :D


End file.
